Right now, Katniss is lying down machines they have never seen before, waiting for the neurologist to tell them that they are done Neuro-imaging. Cato is waiting his turn, and will receive this next.

The neurologist was Dr. Franklin Olybrius, a fifty three year old man with a thin light-black hair. The only thing about him that was not plain in appearance was his left hand, which was missing the last three digits. Dr. Olybrius was an honest man, and professional. He worked not only with the new breeding stock, but also with the various District 13 people who were deemed important enough for their medical requests to be granted. He was currently well known in District 13s neurological community for his theory that chemicals in the human brain have an affect on how people feel emotionally. He receives notoriety for never commenting on Eugenics. He also has a secret that could get him in trouble if it is found out; the thing he is hiding is actively discouraged in District 13 society, and he has not even told his beloved wife of this secret.

As Katniss lies on her back, wearing only her hospital gown, the machine she is intakes pictures of her head. Dr. Olybrius gave instructions.

"Now hold your breath until I tell you its okey to breath."

Katniss held her breath, wondering if she would suffocate. She heard the flash of a camera. "Okey, now breath regularly."

She opened her mouth and let air flow down her throat and into her lungs. Soon, the metal board she was lying on began to slide out of the machine. She assumed it was safe to get off, and sat up.

Dr. Olybrius turned on the screen that was mounted on the wall, and it showed a black and white picture of something that can only be described as a tangled mesh of meat tubes.

"This is your brain. Encase you can not tell, it is working without any problems." Dr. Olybrius then began to bore her with the details of what each part of the brain was and what it did. Despite the best education District 12's barley functioning school system had to offer, Katniss did not know enough about the subject to know what Dr. Olybrius was describing to her.

"I'm sorry, this is probably going over your head, isn't it?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I only began to understand after studying for decades, I can't expect everyone to be an expert at this. And besides, there are many others who are experts at things I know next to nothing on. But anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself."

He then wrote down something in a piece of paper, and handed it to a boy in grey scrubs. The boy had curly red hair, and a freckled face; he could not be much older than eighteen.

"Felix, please take this to the sector chief of medicine."

Katniss asked, "What was that?"

"Its a request for new light fixtures, the ones in here are shorting too often. Now, remember to get regular excessive, eat all your rations, and drink plenty of water, and your mental health should be fine. Try to avoid hitting your head against anything, or ingesting any hazardous material."

With that, Katniss passed the neurological evaluation. She is safe, for now.


While Dr. Olybrius is doing this, another doctor is doing a little research of his own. Dr. Kurtz is standing to the side of the concrete slab used for an operating table. The occupant of the table tries in vain to shake free of his bindings. The slab was stained dark red, almost black, with blood that had dried long ago. Even more blood was spilled onto the floor, leaving it with several coats of sickening red. The room was lit with fluorescent light, just like every other room in the district; only these lights were flickering and some were out. The room was dimly lit.

The name of the occupant is no longer important, it is just a meaningless arrangement of letters. What is important is that the occupant was a hard working man, and a loving husband. He was thirty two years old, and has until recently been cheery and kind even to people he was not fond of. However, none of this mattered to the Ministry of Eugenics and Genetic Intervention; all that mattered to them was that this man was sterile from birth.

Dr. Kurtz looked into the eyes of the man; the mans eyes were wide with mortal terror. The man could not speak, as one restraint covered his mouth, but he did make muffled screams. Even if anyone could hear his muffled screams through the soundproofed walls of the room, the guards outside the door will just tell anyone who passed that he was being given a life saving surgical operation. It requires amazing talent to lie so blatantly.

Dr. Kurtz walled calmly over to the table that contained the various assortments of surgical equipment and cutters. He picked up an electric rotation cutter, and powered it on. The blade spinner rotated wit. Such speed that it could cut copper easily. In his other hand, he pulled out a pair of rusty, unsterilized forceps.

Dr. Kurtz walked up to his victim, and looked him in the eyes.

"I am going to dissect you. It is going to hurt."

Dr Kurtz looked into his victims eyes, gaining an intense thrill from watching the mortal terror of his victim. Dr. Kurtz smiled; he loved being the master of life and death. The horrified screams were like music to him.

If only it could be said that Dr. Kurtz did not go through with the dissection, that this was his first and that he did not do the same to hundreds in the past, or even that he was the only doctor to preform operations similar to this. If only this could be said without being a lie.

It is needless to say that these little ... procedures ... are kept secret from the general public. The mans wife will probably be told that while receiving a surgery that would return his fertility, the mans heart gave out. Dr. Kurtz will might even give the new widow the news himself, claiming to have done all he could for the man. The randomly mixed ashes of the various depositories of the crematorium will then be given to the widow, stored in an urn of hard plastic, which will bare the mans name and dates of birth and death.